


I try to talk refined (for fear that you'd find out)

by Alois_Zirconia



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Angst, Body Worship, Confessions, Demon Shane Madej, Demons, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied existence of ghosts, Insecurity, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Chronological, OOC, Oral Sex, Pining, Religion, Rimming, Secrets, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Shane is the opposite of cocky, Snippets, like internalized demonphobia?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alois_Zirconia/pseuds/Alois_Zirconia
Summary: Shane heard the distant slam of the fridge door, followed by footsteps. Increasingly loud, agitated footsteps.“You know I’m not trying to bethatguy, right?”“Hm?” Shane looked up from the button of his chinos.“I’m not trying to, like, hold it over your head and be all preachy–”“I, uh–” Shane stuttered lamely. “Say what?”“I just don’t understand why you would lie about beingvegetarian.”Or,Shane wishes more than anything that he could tell Ryan the truth about what he is. But he can’t risk losing what little time they have together.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144





	I try to talk refined (for fear that you'd find out)

**Author's Note:**

> So I was reading some demon fics, and I got to thinking about demons that want to do the right thing, and then about the sustainability of eating meat in the future, and then about whether demons even could be vegetarian, and then about other supernatural creatures that subsist on animal life. 
> 
> Way too on-the-nose title is from Hozier’s _Talk_. The snippets are **not in chronological order**. Timeline is in end notes. 
> 
> **Content Warning** for habitually throwing up food, briefly. 
> 
> Welcome to demon Shane trying to do the Right Thing, and failing miserably, with a dash of certain vampiric traits for flavor. Poor thing.

Shane heard the distant slam of the fridge door, followed by footsteps. Increasingly loud, agitated footsteps.

“You know I’m not trying to be _that_ guy, right?”

“Hm?” Shane looked up from the button of his chinos.

“I’m not trying to, like, hold it over your head and be all preachy–” 

“I, uh–” Shane stuttered lamely. “Say what?”

“I just don’t understand why you would lie about being _vegetarian_.”

Shane’s deer-in-headlights look was warring with a sort of _pics-or-it-didn’t-happen_ vibe. Ryan brandished the vacuum-sealed foil packet of bacon.

“Ah,” Shane said delicately. “That.”

Ryan really did look quite mad. But worse than that, Shane thought, was the _betrayal_. It wound around his stomach, sour and curdled.

Shane _hadn’t_ lied at first – he’d really gone vegetarian, for… _two days_ , at which point the sharp, stabbing pains in his stomach were so brutal that he couldn’t keep it off his face in public anymore. His workdays were increasingly fraught with the anxiety of sneaking away to the bathroom to retch silently at opportune moments. Wiping his mouth with cheap, gritty toilet paper and spitting in the sink. He would walk back, smiling wanly at Ryan sitting next to his desk, his gut heavy with – food, normal human _food_ , why couldn’t he keep it down? – and bitter guilt.

Was it his nature? Did he require something living, something forcibly _taken_ to survive? Or simply old habit? An old dog, stubbornly refusing to learn new tricks and chewing on its tail. As much as Shane tried to fool himself, he couldn’t _become_ human – couldn’t be adaptable, creative, carefree like them.

His veins _itched_. He’d gone to the store, bought turkey bacon – it felt less sinful, because turkey maybe had a lower carbon footprint or something? – and cried at his breakfast table over dry, salty mouthfuls. Two weeks of feeling like he was _cheating_ on Ryan with foil packets of Wellshire Farms turkey bacon. Of his utter faith in what Ryan was saying, about the carbon footprint, and the sustainability, and his _contribution_. And then the sickening, swooping _relief-nausea-guilt_ of realizing the cat was out of the bag.

Shane tried not to make a habit of lying to Ryan. And yet, it was happening more and more often.

* * *

It happened not with a bang, but quite literally a whimper. A slip, a whimper, and a quiet _fuck_ that summoned Ryan to the threshold of the kitchen.

“What’s u–” Ryan started, immediately diverted to “–uoooh my god.” He was staring at the blood dripping from the sizable gash across two of Shane’s fingers. It was getting all over the carrots. He would have to throw all that out, Shane realized discontentedly. _What a waste._ That’s what he got for trying to be domestic for once, putting some unprocessed food into Ryan’s body, because Ryan _only had one_.

He flexed his fingers. He could see the bloated flesh inside of his fingers, the muscles moving, and a flash of something white–

“Oh my _god_ ,” Ryan repeated. “Shane, stop, you’re gonna fuck up your whole hand!”

An overreaction, some paper towels and a drawstring bag of stray medical supplies later, Shane was sat on the edge of his bathtub with his arm stretched out to drip blood into the sink. In between rifling through the amalgamation of band-aids and cotton balls, Ryan would reach up and push his arm upwards. _Elevate the wound, dude. Did National Geographic teach you nothing? You’re gonna bleed the fuck out_.

Shane wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ , actually – but he wasn’t about to tell Ryan that flat out. He already looked pretty harrowed.

“Do you have _anything_ useful in here?” Ryan thought out loud. He was digging through the medical supplies so frantically it created a buzz of little plastic clicking sounds, filling Shane’s head with white noise and making him even dizzier. “I don’t even know what you need.”

“Blood,” Shane rasped.

Ryan stilled. “What?”

“-y Mary,” Shane continued. “Boy, I could go for a drink right now. Ha ha,” as in the words _ha ha_ , said out _loud_ , who the fuck let him out amongst humans–

“Yeah, hah.” Ryan was rummaging robotically through the polyester bag. “Ha ha.”

And _right_ , that’s why Ryan put up with Shane. Because he himself was a walking disaster of a human being. And Shane was also a walking disaster of a… _person_. Shane would tentatively put a whole ten dollars on him qualifying as a person. He had thoughts, feelings, _wants_.

In fact, there was one right there in front of him, frustratedly turning away from the drawstring bag and brushing his hair out of his face. “I’m _so_ unqualified to do this, dude. I think we should just go to the ER.”

“Sure,” Shane said placidly. Some poor intern Downstairs managed his health insurance, like every other official document that normal, corn-fed Midwestern boys tended to have. A passport, driver’s license, a birth certificate…

They were so _creative_ , too: _Shane, Scott and Sherry Madej_. Come on.

But apparently people believed it.

* * *

Shane sometimes wished he could have Ryan’s trusting, unshakable faith.

 _Father Gary Thomas_ , frowning down at his laptop, _he’s like the Madonna of exorcists. They made a whole movie about him_.

Shane, chewing on his lip quietly: _So he’s a professional demon murker?_ Ryan had laughed, like Shane was joking.

Shane really didn’t feel like joking now. Staring up at the imposing building in the distance, he was aware of Ryan presenting the context for the camera, but couldn’t muster up any charisma for the camera. Keeping his face blank was hard enough. Ryan was practically glowing in the late afternoon golden hour.

Eventually, Shane managed a couple dry sentences to help out his co-host, and they moved onto the next segment: actually entering the church.

“You okay, big guy? You look a little pale.”

Shane looked away from the white stucco façade, tilting his head down to meet Ryan’s concerned gaze.

 _He’ll know._ “I’m fine.”

Ryan held eye contact. “Yeah?”

 _Ryan, he’s gonna know._ “Yeah.”

“No wiley baggage claim hot dogs? Don’t go all Exorcist on me, dude.”

Shane laughed brightly. _He’s going to see me and expel me._ “Just a _spray_ of processed meat when you least expect it. Gotta keep you on your toes!”

Ryan wheezed, and his nose crinkled with it. “Dude, gross.”

 _I can’t do that again._ Shane winked at him. “Keep your distance.” _Ryan, please, it hurts so bad I can’t go through that again–_

“No way, dude!” Ryan was practically jumping, he was so excited. “I gotta be there by your side, with like a – a cross, and a rosary, smiting all the demons!”

Shane smiled. “My hero.”

* * *

Ghost-hunting was Shane’s favorite part of his job, because it allowed him to do stupid shit like this.

“Hey ghouls! Why don’t you scratch my eyes out?” he yelled into the empty air. The aged, decrepit house creaked steadily around him. “Pinch– pinch my ass, or something!”

Behind Shane, Ryan choked on a laugh. “ _Jesus_ , Shane.” Ryan’s flashlight cast a beam of LED white over dusty floorboards. His voice sounded a little strained. Above them, the wind howled and tore at the leaky roof. Places like these always made Shane want to switch his eyes back to black, so he could see in every dark nook and cranny; some old predator instinct.

“What, you think old people weren’t kinky?”

They were. Now _that_ Shane would bet a fat sum on. He didn’t remember much of his brief stay Upstairs all those years ago, but some things were just _memorable_. He still couldn’t stand the feeling of rough fabric on his nipples just on principle.

“I– please don’t make me think about that,” Ryan declared. “I don’t want to think about ghosts getting it on.”

“It’s the circle of life, Ryan!” Shane turned and grinned at Ryan and Mark behind him. “You’re born, then you’re stupid for a couple years, and then you _get it on–”_

“ _Okay!_ ” Ryan spoke over him. “Let’s do the spirit box.”

He took the spirit box from TJ, and they set it on a dusty upholstered armchair. Shane felt his shoulders subconsciously trying to climb their way up towards his ears. Ryan was relaxed, fiddling with his mic pack. At the signal, he reached forward to turn on the jury-rigged radio.

Shane braced himself for the earsplitting shrieking – and sure enough, it soon felt like his eardrums were bleeding. He tried to keep his face neutral and waited for his partner to begin. Ryan raised his voice over the loud static, standing a little taller.

“Okay, spirits!” Ryan announced. “My name’s Ryan, that guy’s Shane. If you would like to talk to us, use this box to communicate.”

Shane patiently waited him out. The spirit box was still spitting choppy consonants – he wished this part was as brief as it was in the videos. Most of the spirit box sessions was grating noise, waiting, Ryan practicing his announcer voice, and more waiting.

“Is there anyone here?”

**_HHSH – FFZT – SHPPS – HZTT – TSSH – FFSSH – VZZT_ **

Shane was beginning to get a headache. He preoccupied himself with staring at Ryan’s face, which had the benefit of looking like Shane was paying attention. Ryan almost looked like a baroque painting: face harshly lit by the flashlight, surrounded by pitch darkness.

“Are you afraid of us? We’re not here to hurt you,” Ryan stubbornly continued. “We just want to talk.”

**_TSHH – CHSS – ZSST – BZZH – SHH – KKRI – ZSSHHH_ **

In the stark LED light, his pupils had contracted to small pinheads, surrounded by a vivid brown. Shane felt that hunger he so rarely felt – of craving something for his own. Something about the lighting, the setting, the abrasive static, made him take a step towards Ryan.

**_FFTT – PSST – GO – AAACK – RUN – SBBH – OW_ **

Ryan took a startled step back. “Did you hear that?”

Shane blinked. “Hear what?”

His ears were filled with dissonant screeching and the sound of the house groaning under the storm outside.

**_SHPPS – VZZT – DSSHT – HSHSS – VFFF – BZZS_ **

Ryan was pale; this time it wasn’t flattering. “I swear, I heard–”

**_EESH – DE – BZZZ – SHHA – MON – TSHSHH_ **

“Did– oh my god did you just say _demon_?”

Shane forced himself to laugh. “How polite, Ryan, it’s introducing itself!” He knew from experience Ryan would follow in his footsteps if he kept his cool and acted like nothing was wrong. “Hey demon, my name’s Shane!”

**_BZZH – SHH – KKRI – ZSSH – TSHH – CHSS – ZSST_ **

“So you heard it say demon,” Ryan confirmed, eyes wide.

 _Fuck_.

“Something that sounded vaguely like it, at least,” Shane breezed. _Move on, move on, redirect and distract him_ – “Come on, Ryan. Don’t be rude, introduce yourself!”

Ryan barked an incredulous laugh, hissed “Oh my god, Shane. No I’m not gonna _introduce myself_ to the _demon_ –”

**_HSSH – NO – FFTT – HIM – SZZZH – FRONT OF – LLSSH_ **

Ryan spoke right over it, “–are you _crazy?_ Oh my god, I can’t do this. Let’s – We can’t leave, but we’re changing rooms. Oh god, this wasn’t supposed to be the demon episode,” he muttered to himself hysterically.

Shane’s shoulders were easy, relaxed. “What, you can’t handle spontaneous demons in your life?”

“Wh– _No_ ,” Ryan laughed. “I’m gonna hang myself too, at this rate.”

**_TSSH – FSSH – VZZT – NO – FFZT – SHPS – HZTT_ **

Shane did Ryan the favor of picking up the spirit box, switching it off. Then he followed him to another room.

* * *

Movie nights combined all of Shane’s favorite parts of humanity. The creativity, the good food, the intimacy of sitting pressed up against another person in the dark. Once a week he got to revel in shoveling warm, buttery popcorn into his gullet with Ryan Bergara sitting next to him.

Their movie nights had carved a little nook in his heart, in a place he didn’t even know he had. The sensation of the soft blanket, Ryan’s cotton t-shirt – his warm, gentle breaths sometimes ghosting across Shane’s hair. Shane very quietly thought that whatever heaven offered was moot next to this. _Sure, eternal salvation’s great, but you ever tried Ryan Bergara?_

Ryan shifted next to him, and his shoulder rubbed against Shane’s. More popcorn. Shane inhaled – Ryan smelled warm, sleepy, _human_.

Shane inhaled once more and hoped Ryan wouldn’t notice him practically panting in his ear. He held his breath, letting it linger on his tongue. He tasted…

“You okay?”

Ryan looked over at him. He was so close Shane could see the reflection of whatever was happening on screen in his eyeballs. Shane reveled in it. It would have been socially inappropriate for them to share the same air if they just were coworkers. Even if they were just friends, actually. But he got to have this now. He got to have _Ryan_.

Ryan was frowning. “Yeah, what d’you mean?”

 _You taste anxious._ But that wasn’t something he could say, because Ryan was doing a remarkable job hiding it. His whole body was relaxed, his breaths slow – and yet Shane could taste that lingering top note of jittery disquiet.

“Uh. You just – you seem… quiet?” _Smooth._

Ryan exhaled a breathy laugh. “We _are_ watching a movie.” But as he said it, that intrusive anxiety faded away, like a bathtub slowly draining. It was replaced by… _affection_. _Content_. Much better, Shane felt – less bitter, not at all acrid.

He inhaled freely, savoring the taste of Ryan’s emotions. There was a certain warmth in it, Shane pondered as he leaned his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder. How wonderful, to be under a warm, soft blanket next to a living human. It was more than he had known for centuries.

Ryan clearly trusted him. If not, he wouldn’t be sitting here in Ryan’s home, pressed up against his vulnerable body. Ryan had invited him in, because Shane was his… boyfriend.

The affection soured on his tongue.

Shane wasn’t a very good boyfriend. Ryan trusted him wholeheartedly, because he didn’t know what was sitting next to him. Only that thin cotton t-shirt between him and a predator. He didn’t know what he’d invited into his home.

Shane was a creature made of lies, of deception. It seemed some things never changed.

* * *

Ryan and Shane were pretty respectful of each other’s spiritual beliefs. Ryan didn’t try to convert Shane or anything, and Shane pretended not to notice the rosary in Ryan’s nightstand. It was dark, oiled wood – from his grandmother, if Shane recalled correctly.

And Ryan was a pretty private guy in general. He was more the type to lock everything away in some dusty box and compartmentalize until he had no other choice. Shane had never actually seen Ryan do something explicitly religious, and they both seemed content to leave it at that.

All this is to say that the first time Shane saw Ryan praying over a rosary, he had come home early without telling Ryan.

Ryan often left work at a reasonable hour to hit the gym before coming home, while Shane would stay behind and work on some scripts in the quiet office. This time, however, he must have come straight home: Shane could see his Air Jordans in the entryway. A shame – Shane was hoping to surprise Ryan with some dinner.

Then he heard the quiet clicking of wooden beads, and by virtue of some old instinct inside him, he froze right there in the entryway.

Ryan wasn’t saying anything out loud, but as Shane crept closer to the open bedroom door, he was sure the man was praying. He could feel it in the air, like an infrasonic hum. It repelled him, but he managed to get close enough to see his boyfriend.

Ryan was sitting on his side of the bed, his back turned to Shane. His head was bent over his hands, where he clasped the rosary. It wasn’t any sort of traditional prayer – he seemed to be fidgeting with the beads more than counting them. Even then, his faith shone so brightly some quiet part of Shane _ached_.

Mutely, Shane backed away.

* * *

There came a chill in the air. With it came those fun human holidays.

“Are you still going to your parents’ for Christmas?”

Shane saved the script he was working on, spinning his chair to face Ryan. “Yup. Back to Schaumburg for me.”

‘Schaumburg’ was code for sitting in his darkened apartment for a week straight, until he could resume regularly scheduled programming. Him, his couch, and a lotta popcorn. No Ryan.

Shane liked to think of it as his Corner Time, to sit and think about what he was doing to that poor fucking guy.

“Nice. Hey, say hi to your parents from me.”

Part of being boyfriends – long-term, serious boyfriends, Shane still couldn’t fathom it – was meeting each other’s parents. Shane called Downstairs, requested a couple golems. Sat in a sunny café listening to a happy, corn-fed boy’s childhood feeling like he was about to walk off a cliff. Ryan had been ecstatic, like a puppy meeting new friends.

When Shane met Ryan’s parents, two weeks later, they had been ecstatic as well. Ryan’s mother pulled him down into a hug. He stood hunched over in their entryway trying not to cry. _Such a nice boy_ , Shane heard her whisper to Ryan in the kitchen.

Ryan looked so much like his dad – they smiled the same, and Ryan of course had the bright white teeth of a dentist’s son. His teeth were one of Shane’s favorite parts of him. They reminded Shane of an animal, capable of biting when backed into a corner.

But usually, Shane was the one being backed into corners. Those teeth nipped at Shane’s ankles, herding him like a border collie would.

There had been talk of how Shane’s lease was coming up, and how much time he spent at Ryan’s place already, and the ever-rising rent in LA. Really, Ryan shouldn’t have bothered with the puppy eyes, because Shane was weak.

He could see the precipice – he was in a flimsy rowboat, seeing the water suddenly drop away in front of him, hearing the increasing roar of a waterfall. And yet he stayed seated.

Because the boat was Ryan. The boat was warm sheets, and movie nights, and those trusting brown eyes. Shane was cradled in these habits now. He couldn’t bear the idea of losing Ryan’s warm, dry hands holding his, losing the ability to push his face into Ryan’s hair and smell him (and the only consequence was Ryan swatting at him, laughing, eyes crinkled).

Ryan had bestowed upon Shane humanity itself: skin against skin, and the smell of him, and his embrace as they rested together in the same bed. There was nothing more wonderful to Shane than these moments.

This was the height of human experience – being loved.

Here’s a secret: although the body needed sleep, Shane laid awake every night he spent in Ryan’s bed so he could observe him. He watched Ryan’s tranquil face. Listened to his pulse in the dark. He would grasp Ryan’s slack hand gently in his, marveling at his privilege.

Shane was weak.

It wasn’t that he didn’t fear the rocks and the undertow at the bottom of this drop. He simply held the intimate knowledge that each moment spent with Ryan was worth far, far more.

* * *

“Oh _god_ , Shane,” Ryan moaned.

Shane let it sizzle over his skin, enjoying the burn – exaltation hit a lot harder when Ryan was this open and genuine. Usually it was just a slight discomfort, like an itchy seam. Most modern people didn’t have as much faith as Ryan.

The boyfriend in question was currently clenching every muscle in his abdomen, breaths wheezy. It made for a nice contrast against Ryan’s still half-asleep dick in Shane’s mouth. It was a tepid Sunday morning, and Shane’s favorite: warm sheets, an empty schedule, and Ryan under his hands.

He shifted his jaw, swallowing Ryan’s soft cock down his throat. Above him Ryan was panting, his hips twitching uncontrollably. Always so sensitive in the morning.

“Shane,” he choked out. “Shane, _please_ –”

Shane pulled back to swirl his tongue over the slit, feeling the cock slowly hardening in his mouth. It was intoxicating to feel Ryan go from soft and pliable in his mouth, to hard and desperate.

When Ryan was fully erect, flushed red and wanting, Shane let himself have some fun. He pulled out his favorite tricks – wedging his tongue-tip into the slit, holding the cock to his lips and sucking at the frenulum… taking him all the way down his throat and then licking at his balls. Ryan was tensing up everywhere, high-strung.

Laying a kiss at the base of Ryan’s length, Shane kissed his way downwards – over his soft balls, the crease of his thigh, his perineum – until he arrived at Ryan’s entrance. Gently, he laid a soft lick at the furl of it and had to hold Ryan’s thighs down as they threatened to close around his head.

“Shane,” Ryan keened brokenly.

Shane tightened his hands around Ryan’s muscular thighs and nudged his balls aside with his nose so he could get closer. He laid another lick, and then two more – Ryan’s back arched. Hands scrambling to grasp onto something, Ryan caught a handful of Shane’s hair and pushed him closer. His entire body was taut as a bowstring.

“Shh,” Shane whispered, laying a kiss on Ryan’s hole. “All that tension can’t be good for you so early in the morning.”

Like a magic trick, Ryan’s muscles unwound. It took some prompting, but his bear-trap thighs even fell away from Shane’s head. _Good boy_ , Shane thought, and brushed his lips over his boyfriend’s inner thigh.

The skin was soft here, thinner, and Shane could feel the beat of his pulse against his own lips. If he stilled, reaching out, he could almost hear the rush of blood. Instead of giving in to Ryan’s unconscious beckon, Shane indulged himself with nipping a hickey. Blood rose to just under the skin, painting a pretty, scarlet mark against Ryan’s usual bronze.

Said man whined, reminding Shane he wasn’t here to just nibble on Ryan all day.

He bent down, laying wet strokes of his tongue across Ryan’s hole. Shane could see Ryan was trying his best to keep the tension out of his body; his abdomen jerked sporadically like he was being electrocuted. His hands were gathering fistfuls of the loosened bedsheets.

Shane licked his thumb and laid it against Ryan’s entrance. Ryan twitched, letting out a soft, cut-off moan that was maybe Shane’s second favorite thing in the entire world.

Rubbing the furl of skin, Shane licked around it until Ryan was dripping wet. His stomach laid completely slack, and his head was thrown so far back Shane couldn’t see his face. All he could hear was the rhythmic catch of Ryan’s breath as Shane kept licking him open until he yielded to his tongue. When he pushed in with the tip of his tongue, Ryan’s hole opened around it, creating a slight suction before Shane pulled out again.

Shane put his entire finger in his mouth to wet it, and then pushed in – slowly, carefully – up to the second knuckle. Ryan was trembling finely again, and the look on his face punched the breath out of Shane. He was a tight vacuum around Shane’s finger, and Shane drew out and added more spit.

When he finally got his finger settled all the way in, he twisted his wrist upwards – Ryan’s breath hitched – and felt for the finish line. When his fingertip hit that firm bump Ryan clenched hard and ground his hips down onto Shane’s hand. He was so wound up; he just needed that little push over the edge.

Still rubbing Ryan’s prostate, Shane ducked down and took Ryan’s cock into his mouth again. He suckled lightly on the head, just enough to tease him – and Ryan sobbed and came.

Shane took him fully into his mouth, sucked long strokes and swallowed it all. He kept sucking, letting the cock soften in his mouth, until an overstimulated Ryan pushed him off.

“ _God_ , Shane,” Ryan exhaled, and Shane kissed his hip and bore the sting.

* * *

It was a Sunday – that calm respite that never lasts, before you’re tossed back into the fire.

Shane had laid awake gazing at Ryan’s face through the night – from midnight, to the witching hour, to dawn, to the first rays of sunlight. He thought about his circumstances. As the light hit Ryan’s slack face, Shane had the pleasure of watching him scrunch his nose and haltingly blink awake. The light caught his eyelashes and turned them blonde at the tips.

Ryan’s expression stilled.

“Shane?” he whispered. Shane hummed in response, reaching out under the sheets to hold Ryan’s pliant hand. He massaged Ryan’s limp digits between his fingers, feeling the bone and tendon.

“Good morning,” Shane rasped. He hadn’t spoken since last night. “You look beautiful right now.”

Despite himself, Ryan frowned. “ _Right now?_ Cool it with the romance, dude.”

Shane laughed and rolled closer so he could tackle Ryan into an embrace. He laid his head in his favorite spot, between Ryan’s jaw and the crease of his armpit. Ryan’s arm came up to cradle him from behind, hesitantly. Shane inhaled the sleepy smell of him.

“You look beautiful always. I love you,” he murmured, squeezing Ryan’s waist in his arms, feeling his boyfriend’s soft skin crease under his fingertips.

Ryan wriggled to get his arm out from underneath him, and Shane leaned back to give him space. Ryan’s free hand came up to lightly trace over Shane’s brow, his nose. “You love me?” Ryan breathed.

Shane closed his eyes and hummed. Ryan’s finger brushed over Shane’s closed eye, grazing his eyelashes.

“Why?” Ryan prompted, and Shane laughed. If his boyfriend wanted to act coquettish, Shane was happy to oblige.

“I love you every day,” he confessed, “all the time. More than I thought I ever could. I spend every second I’m awake thinking of you. Every time I hold you, I can’t believe that – that I get to have this. I don’t deserve you, Ryan.”

Shane opened his eyes. Ryan looked on the verge of tears. “That was romantic,” he choked. “Really?”

Shane smiled leisurely. “Really,” he confirmed.

Ryan reached out with one trembling finger and traced around his eye socket again, gently prodding his cheekbone. Shane relished his human wanting him like this: cherishing his vessel, and by extension _him_.

“I love you too,” Ryan said. “I wish you had told me.”

“Told you what?”

Ryan raised his shaky fingertip until it hovered an inch away from Shane’s eyeball.

Quickly, Shane blinked his eyes back to human.

All that time, and he still hadn’t prepared himself for impact. His hand found Ryan’s again; he thought of their bed, of their show, of hot sand and dusty stone–

“I love you,” Ryan repeated steadfastly. “I wish you’d told me.”

His soul feels like it’s being flagellated. “I wish you’d never found out,” Shane whispered, vulnerable and far too honest.

Ryan grasped his shoulders, leaning forwards until his forehead met Shane’s. “Why?”

Shane told the truth: “Because then I could still have this."

_Dusty, cool stone under his bare soles, the endless pain of being as he is scorched by the sun, a wail from Kushim’s frenzied mother, who spits curses upon him, the whip –_

Ryan laughs against his mouth. “I’m right here.”

For a moment, Shane is convinced Ryan has stabbed his heart with a stake. He lays curled up on his side, and Ryan _laughs_ at him. What’s so funny? In that instant, Shane feels disgust – for Ryan, and for his own naiveté.

Ryan must see his body subconsciously retract; he hauls him back, putting those biceps to good use. “Hey,” he soothes. Shane doesn’t know if the hole inside him can be soothed away. “What’s up? Don’t get in your head, big guy.”

In the interest of full disclosure, Shane divulges: “I love you.”

Ryan’s eyes are brown and warm and kind.

“I can’t bear to lose you,” Shane swears. It’s truer than he knows.

Ryan squeezes his hand – that’s right, they’re still holding hands. Shane feels his lover’s hand: dry, warm, steadfast. “Am I lost?” Ryan whispers. “Where am I, sweetheart?”

“You’re going to leave,” Shane explains to him, “and–”

“I’m not leaving,” Ryan rebuts, sure as anything. “I’m right here. I’m staying.”

Shane squeezes his hand back; they’re now warring against each other in a tight, hard grip. “Never?” he asks optimistically, with the faith of a child.

“As long as I love you,” Ryan says, and lays a featherlight kiss on Shane’s lips. “Which will be until the day I die.”

It’s pretty soothing.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been forever since I wrote something, but an alignment of the stars brought forth a nice comment on one of my old fics, which may or may not have led to this. Leave comments on things you enjoy, people! Support local businesses. And lemme know if you think this is missing a tag. 
> 
> ****
> 
> ### Chronological order of events:
> 
> ****
> 
>  Outside the Sacred Heart church 
> 
>  Movie nights 
> 
>  “Schaumburg”, falling in love 
> 
>  Blowjob 
> 
>  Vegetarian ruse 
> 
>  Ghost-hunting with the spirit box
> 
>  Blood: you give some, you take some 
> 
>  Rosary 
> 
>  The reveal 
> 
> EASTER EGGS:
> 
> Kushim is one of the oldest recorded names in human history. 
> 
> There is so much foreshadowing and double-edged subtext in this my god (Ex: “the faith of a child”)
> 
> Shane is so meek and forlorn because of what happened the last time he fell in love.


End file.
